Roses are red
this much is true
but guess what
violets are violet
not ******* blue

you are slender and sleek
your hair as black as night
and when you were smaller
you and teddy used to fight.

we named you after citrus
because you were so sweet
then you had a **** ton of kittens
which threw us off a beat.

I keep my door closed at night
so that you don't disturb me
and when you *** in my closet
It's pretty **** unerving

We really should get you declawed
sometimes you make us bleed
but if we have an infestation
you're the one we need.

One time we gave you the wrong food
not on purpose, i am sure
but then you farted in my face
and then you were abhorred.

I promise that i love you
even though you're such a ****
just because you're my cat
and i'll always be your nerd.

What is light really, but all the spectrum
crammed into both a wave and a particle.
What is skin tone really, but light
being reflected off pigments
that are compartmentalized in cells
that are made of atoms.
What is sexuality anyway, but the amount
of chemicals that flow through your brain.
What is religion really, but fables preserved
in synapses and energy.
What is a pant size anyway, but a number
to illustrate that your cells contain more proteins
that the model with more prominent ribs.
What is discrimination anyway, but the lack
of the spectrum in one's heart.

when darkness falls
so does shadow
the veil of perhaps
washes over you and
imagining leads you to fear.
your mind starts to play games
with your eyes
you see monsters
in your closet and
under your bed.
looking is not seeing
but they seem the same
so what you thought you glimpsed
sends shivers down your spine
your pupils dilate
fight or flight
because no matter
what your parents tell you
the blankets won't protect you
and the monsters
are
real.

There is no wrong religion


There is no wrong sexuality


There is no wrong weight

There is no wrong skin color

There is no wrong nationality
There is no wrong opinion
There is no wrong choice there is no wrong answer



You Are Perfect
You Are Beautiful
You Are Not Wrong.

Am i too young to die
or is that not my choice

I do not fear death
but i do not welcome it with open arms

I am too young to die
but then, isn't everyone?

With spiteful words
they chase her down the hall
with cruel intentions
their feet are more nimble than hers
so she asks for mercy
but the answer is no.

With sputtered words
she tries to convey emotions to him
that she herself doesn't understand
fear tints her vision
so she asks for love
but the answer is no.

With solemn words
printed on white paper
she tries to explain
why she can't carry on
so she asks for forgiveness
how could they say no.

Long table laden in lace
mismatched silverware
chipped plates
cloth napkins and crystal cups
beneath a canopy
of knotted branches
framed between two hallowed trunks
snaggled twigs cling
to lanterns and ribbons
strung across the foliage
for the Moonlight Feast.

When the sun sinks
the guests begin to arrive
with their flowing gowns
thin veils and hats
lace gloves
masked faces
shaped like wooden birds
slender heeled black boots
daintily stepping through grass
to find a seat
at the Moonlight Feast.

As they sit
drinking their wine
tittering through
frozen smiles
one man walks
wearing a frown.
the woman by his side
pale as the moon
hair like the sun
they sit at the head
of the Moonlight Feast.

They look nearby
at the less traveled road
where a young man
walks with not a penny
they run like wolves
on their hands and knees
and strike him down
limb from limb
he is torn
and brought
to the Moonlight Feast.

The frowning man
gave a toothy smile
and as well did his queen.
The guests all ate
of the flesh of a beggar
who they slaughtered
alone on the street.
Their titters all turned to
shrieks and howls
while the moon shined bright
over these Moonlight Beasts

Shy girl
Hiding behind
Thick lenses
Dark frames

Shy girl
Hiding behind
Thick books
Long pages

A boy
Across the room
Fruitful glances
Stuttered glances

The boy
Across the room
Likes her back

6:30
Glaring
Red
Angry numbers
Glaring
Red
Screeching sound
Hit snooze
9 times
Spread my arms
And fall forward
Into deranged images
Of the prefrontal cortex
Into dreams
Clouds
Flying
Dying right before waking up
7:30
Glaring
Red
Angry
Morning.

Dreaming is like swimming in the most beautiful sea
And waking up is like drowning.

Giacomo Casanova
**** of the 18th century
But he loved the person
More than the *****
'Spoiling' virgins
As if it was one sided.
And not bothering to suppress his
Love
For both human
Anatomy and the
Human heart
When he was done
With you, there was no break up
No casual washing of hands.
He would hook you up
with some rich bloke
He didn't throw you
Into the trash
He threw you through
The top window of
The palace
Where's my Casanova?
Why can't I be
******
And
Loved
Why would I be the
****
When it takes two to
make love.

Dear stormy mornings
On the sea
You make me happy
With so many shades of grey
Tucked into one line of sight.
I can see power in your
Subtle waves that almost look
Opaque
And the wind
Blows across you
The sea birds
With their nimble wings
Serve as proof to your majesty
When they struggle
Against your gales.
The stony beaches
Smooth pebbles
And large rough boulders
Match the flavor of the line
Where the sky
meets the water.
Dear stormy mornings
On the sea.
You are incredibly
Beautiful.

Sun sinks moon rises
Clouds caress the waning moon
It is night sleep now

Wind blows the wrong way
Thunder and lightning rumble
Rain pitter patter

It's like a little black dog
Padding at my feet
And this dog
Refuses to heel
But when I face
What scares me most
That little black dog
Learns to obey

Laying In a puddle
Of blankets on a lake
Eyes full of stars
Like the sky before her.
Her toes dangle and ripples
Disrupt the starry reflection
Names, places, patterns race
Through her mind, faster
Than the sped of light.
This moment stretches on forever.
Space can be infinite, but time cannot.

Sometimes she wishes for a new
Set of stars above her.
A new body, a new life
A new start
She wishes on stars that shoot
across the sky, for
A purpose.
But stars are just ***** of gas on fire
There is no magic in science.
Sometimes she forgets things on purpose.

When she dreams, she dreams in constellations
And in the color of the fires that burn
in the night sky.
She meets a boy who sees stars in her eyes
And helps her make constellations of her own,
But as is life,
He grows tired of her stars.

Lying in a puddle
Of blankets on a lake
Eyes full of tears.
The sky full of stars fall
upon her eyes
And oh, they are
Beautiful once more.